When I find I am stressed, or distressed, I like to pause there and then instead of going through the day with undefined, subterranean unease.

I take the question to which I do not know the answer–how to be more productive perhaps. How to read more. How to help someone. How to get our business to flourish further–and ask Jesus for the answer. And keep asking the question, sort of saturating the question in prayer. If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you (James 1:15). And I keep asking, and keep asking for God’s answer–his surprising out-of-the-box answers, and eventually, as James promises, guidance, answers and wisdom do come.

* * *

Sometimes, I sense a vague fear and unease. Do you? I like to slow down and ask: What is it? What’s bugging me? What is this nebulous dark cloud? Sometimes, the fear, anxiety or annoyance is quite rational, and sometimes not so.

But whether it is a rational fear, or just a vague sense of unease, it does have the same solution.

I mentally put the fear or worry or annoyance into the petri dish of prayer, and invite God’s power to surround, saturate and irradiate it.

I surrender the possible dark outcome I dread to God. Put it in his hands. If it does happen, He will still be there. He will still love me. He will still give me the ability to be happy through it all.

And then I ask him to avert the outcome I dread. Ask him for wisdom for what I am to do today. Ask him for a game plan for the months ahead.

It’s in his hands now, whether things work out just as I prayed for, or just as I dreaded. It’s his worry.

I then just rest in his presence, rest in his love.

It’s not magic, nothing about the spiritual life is …or perhaps everything is!!

But I do get up from the place of prayer so much lighter in my spirit!

I was so pleased when Heather Caliri, author of Dancing Back to Jesus, offered me this beautiful guest post. Thanks so much, Heather!

Bedtime went awry for no very good reason. I was done after a long day. Or: I decided it was a long day, and absolved myself from using kind words and polite questions. As my kids pulled on pajamas and brush teeth, I found myself yelling at someone taking too long to brush their teeth.

Both children asleep and still, I went into my bedroom to quiet my simmering impatience. Settling onto my bed with a pillow at my back, I pulled over the Book of Common Prayer and opened to the devotions for the close of day.

I read the prayers every night. I knew what was coming, and my chest clenched. I hate saying words I can’t live up to. That night, the disconnect was a heavy black underline.

I read the words out loud:

Lord, you now have set your servant free
to go in peace as you have promised.
for these eyes of mine have seen the Savior,
whom you have prepared for all the world to see.

It’s the Song of Simeon, taken from Luke 2. One of the less-familiar Nativity stories, it takes place when the infant Jesus is brought to the temple. Simeon, a prophet that God promised would see the Messiah before he died, comes across the family and praises God.

But as I said them, I thought: Where is my peace? Where is my freedom? Have I seen the Savior today, or closed my eyes to Him? On nights like this Jesus seems hazy and far away, even though his commands are plain: Go and do likewise. Do unto others. Take up your cross.

Simeon’s affirmation needled me. The words tasted of failure.

I know I’m unworthy. But there’s an unworthiness that reaches up to Jesus to be pulled out of the water, and unworthiness that sinks to the bottom of the lake.

The song made me sink.

It’s a pattern I see over and over in my faith, in my pursuit of spiritual disciplines, in my reaching out to God. Sometimes my brokenness brings me to him. Sometimes it does the opposite.

Why does knowledge of my sickness send me running from the one who could heal me?

I read Simeon’s words again because I sensed I needed to be obedient. I needed to say them and ache for healing.

I have seen the Savior, I said. I have seen the Savior.

Here’s what my heart echoed back as I spoke Simeon’s song aloud:

The prophet speaks words before they are true. She is incarnating the possibility. But she lets God do the work of bringing into being.

It is hard for me to believe this no matter how much I know it: God is doing the work for me.

God is providing the peace when I am past the point of feigning it. God is opening the jail doors when I am despairing my captivity. The Savior is, as St. Patrick said, under me, over me, through me, around me, and beside me even when I am blind to His presence.

And what of this peace that Simeon celebrates? It is not the kind we’d see in a soft-focus catalog. I’ve been reading Luke 2 more closely, and seeing this:

Simeon is waiting to die. T.S. Eliot writes that his life is like a feather on the back of a hand, waiting for a breeze to blow it away.

The blessing he gives Mary and Joseph is an unsettling one: their son will cause upheaval. People will speak against him.

And for them: souls pierced by swords.

I imagine them tasting that oddly bittersweet blessing with babe in arms and wondering, again, what they have gotten themselves into.

Here is the truth: my children often pierce my soul. So does my behavior towards them. Reaching out to the Savior who is hazy and clear pierces me, God pierces me, over and over.

It is because I am pierced that I am looking for Him in the first place.

The peace I am given is just right for this complicated world, just right for a mixed-up, broken heart. A heart that waits for God to give the peace, provide the freedom, and make the words come true.

I have seen the Savior, I declare. I am free to go in peace as you have promised.

Heather Caliri is a writer and mom from San Diego. Two years ago, she started saying little yeses to faith, art, and life. The results shocked her. Get her free e-book, Dancing Back to Jesus: Post-perfectionist faith in five easy verbs, on her blog, A Little Yes.

In 2003, Hurricane Isabel passed over Williamsburg, Virginia where I lived for 12 years.

Kingsmill, our neighbourhood, was particularly badly hit—we had, well, hurricane force winds buffet us for nearly 12 hours. The lights went out. Trees crashed on the roof, and broke the girls’ newly built tree house and playhouse. The laptops failed; there was nothing to do but watch the storm.

And suddenly, in the little woods behind our house, there was a still point of absolute calm, while around it, trees bent and swayed like ballerinas. “It’s the eye of the hurricane,” Roy said.

* * *

So I have been retreating ever more to the still point at the eye of the hurricane.

At the still point of the turning world.

At the still point, there the dance is. T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets.

* * *

And here is my favourite hiding place when the battle rages—hiding in the shelter of the Most High

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most Highwill rest in the shadow of the Almighty.will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,my God, in whom I trust.”He will cover you with his feathers,and under his wings you will find refuge. Psalm 91

* * *

Have you ever been hooked up to an IV? You lie passive on your hospital bed, while drip, drip, drip, life-giving fluids flow into you.

Increasingly, I retreat to that secret place, the shelter of the Most High, and hide in the shadow of the Almighty, relying on the steady drip-drip-drip of grace and peace and presence of mind to deal with the challenges as they surface.

And when I don’t—then, well, all hell breaks lose.

* * *

“My grace is sufficient for you,” Christ told the Apostle Paul. “For my power is made perfect in weakness.”

How do we avail ourselves of this power? Moment by moment, step by step.

By practice, we learn to pray.

I am learning to lean, to hook up to that immense waterfall of grace and power when I am tired, to learn that his grace, given minute by minute at the point of need, really is sufficient.

I am learning when stressed to return to the still point of prayer, that land which is so quiet.

Around the time, we turned 40, we met our pastor for counselling, who told us that he had experienced a definite slow-down around the time, he turned 40, and had begun to build in margins. For instance, we took time off before and after every trip.
We had never lived with margins. Crazy about travel, we’d left on holiday as soon as Roy’s teaching or the girls’ school was done, returning just in time. Crazy memories of arriving home between 2 and 4 a.m. and Roy leaving to teach at 8 a.m.
No longer. We build in 1-2 (days after term and before a trip, and after a trip, and before term.
Similarly, I would always pretty up just before leaving the house, then gather what I wanted to take, then leave….and arrive 10 minutes late.
By building a margin, getting dressed with 10 minutes to spare, getting there 10 minutes early–what peace!! Of course, one might waste 10 minutes here and there, but the peace of living in a calm, steady way!

Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.

6Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.8Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. 9Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.Philippians 4

Here’s a totally blessed passage. We will experience turbulence as sinful humans, living among sinful humans. (I love Isaiah’s first reaction on seeing the glory of God. “Woe is me, for I am man of unclean lips, and I live amidst a people of unclean lips, and mine eyes have seen the glory.”)

We are in a potentially worrisome situation at the moment, which I won’t share because of verse 8.
What does God say amidst it?
Do not be anxious
Pray
Thank me, I can bring amazing things out of it.
Pray again.
Accept my peace.
Think of what is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy.
Be good.
And the God of peace will be with you.

PTLA, praise God for everything is a popular theology of praise
And that makes sense, because God can bring beauty out of ashes, turn bitter waters sweet, turn water to wine.
I love you, God!!